


Suburbia

by Stimmbits



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fourth of July, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Madison Fic, Mutual Pining, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stimmbits/pseuds/Stimmbits
Summary: A guide to coming home even when you've outgrown the space it left for you, or the story of how Bitty survived Madison after finally getting the boy.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	Suburbia

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to write my own Madison fic since we saw that photo of Suzanne and Jack. I grew up in Small Town, Midwest so it felt too good to pass up.

It was Suzanne who met him at the airport. Rocking and jumping on her heels to see over the crowd, and then diving her way through to throw herself into her son’s arms. Eric squeezed her back just as tight, not even caring about the people they were likely pissing off by clogging the arrivals line. She smelled like the same vaguely fruity perfume, a dash of hairspray, and cinnamon. In that moment it bowled Eric over like it did every summer, that there were some parts of Madison he would always miss. 

Suzanne pulled back and cupped Eric’s face staring at him trying to spot any changes that might have happened since Winter Break. “Look at you,” She whispered. Her thumb reached out to wipe across his cheekbones. Drifting over a scar from a puck and another from crashing against the ice without a helmet. “My little boy looking all grown up.” 

An older gentleman nearly knocked Eric out of the way letting him know that their little reunion was over. Suzanne filled him in on everything that happened since their phone call that morning while Eric got his luggage. Her hand tight around his wrist as she led him outside into the muggy heat. “I know you wanna get home and rest up for a couple of days but your daddy may die if he doesn’t get that porch started. He keeps going on and on about moving the grill closer to the back patio, but I keep telling him, ‘Richard, we’ve been carrying plates’- who’s that?” 

Eric’s head snapped up from his phone. Turning off airplane mode made all the messages he missed while in the air flood in. Most were updates from the group chat saying that those who traveled were home safe, or Lardo looking bored at a shitty, quite literally, family reunion. The only person missing being Jack who was probably still out with his parents or on his way home to Providence. Because Jack lived in Providence now, and Jack had graduated less than ten hours ago, and less than eight hours ago had…

“Just the team. Everyone wanted to make sure I landed all right.” One quick text saying as much and Eric put his phone down on his lap. “Y’know how the boys worry.” 

“Well, I hope they know that you’re mine for a whole three months out of the year.” Suzanne leaned over the console, keeping her eyes on the road, to squeeze Eric’s hand. The rest of the ride home passed as they spoke about everything and nothing, and Eric tried to not look so eager whenever his phone buzzed on his thigh. 

\---

Coach was on his hands and knees leveling out the path in the SUV’s bright lights when they pulled up. He covered his eyes with his hand and gave a lazy wave with the other. “You got our boy Suzie?” 

“All in one piece.” She called back. “What’s wrong with the sidewalk?” 

Coach stomped twice on the piece he was standing on, frowning. “It’s unlevel. Might be a gopher. I was debating on just digging it all up to see since I’ll have to level it out anyway. What do you think?” Eric let them talk shop while going inside to the conditioning. Another ping from his phone, and he pulled it out to see a text from Jack. 

6:54: Jack: Back in Providence, Mom and Dad wanted to look at my place before going back to their hotel. Are you in Madison yet? 

7:12: Me: Home safe and sound. Momma and Coach are already talking about redoing some part of the house. I haven’t even been home for ten minutes.

The door opened and Suzanne came in, a streak of dirt on her cheek. She lightly hip checked her son as she made her way to the counter dropping her keys and purse. "Eric Richard Bittle," She rounded on him hands on her hips. "Who on Earth has got your phone making that racket?" 

Eric put his phone away. "Nothing, just the the boys blowing up my phone." He left the kitchen before she noticed how red his cheeks were. 

They ate late and his parents grilled him for any scrap of information about Samwell or the last season. Coach mopped up his plate with a chunk of bread shaking his head while Eric told them about the final. “No use beating yourself up, son. You boys had a nice season, just the way things shook out in the end. Sorry I couldn’t be there with Spring training and graduation starting up. Would have been nice to see you on the ice at the Championship.” 

Shrugging, Eric speared a couple of green beans knowing he’ll have to eat at least half of it before Suzanne would excuse him from the table. “I mostly felt bad for our seniors. Shi- _Knight_ kept blaming himself for his pass being intercepted, and well, Jack is Jack. He thinks being captain means everyone’s mistake is his own too.” 

“It’s always the senior year that hurts the most. I’ve had men who wouldn’t shed a single tear for all four years until our last team meeting.” Coach stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth ignoring his wife’s half hearted swipe at him when he spoke with his mouth full. “That’ll be y’too Junior.” 

It was something Eric had been too aware of since spring semester started. Next year it would be Ransom, Holster, and Lardo leaving which would have him be the last member of the original Samwell team from his freshman year. It was a thought that made his stomach roll and pull at his throat. It was hard enough to say goodbye to Jack and Shitty, he couldn’t imagine doing the same with the next three. Eric tapped his fork against the side of his plate before giving up and asking to be excused. 

Suzanne frowned but agreed knowing he was probably tired after a long day. She ran her hand through his hair pushing his bangs back and sighed looking almost sad. Eric gave her an extra long hug goodnight before kissing her cheek, gave a quicker hug to Coach, and went upstairs pulling his phone out the moment he was down the hallway and out of sight. 

8:47: Jack: Skype?  
9:12: Me: You still up?  
9:14: Jack: Yes. 

Seeing Jack, even flushed out and pixelated by his built in webcam Jack, made Eric’s heart beat a little faster. Without even thinking about it, his fingers rose up to his lips wondering if what happened was some dramatic dream born out of missed opportunities. But then Jack mirrored his movement, his eyes a little unfocused while he pulled his bottom lip down to reveal a sneak of teeth. Teeth that Eric had pressed his own tongue against just hours ago. 

_God._

“Hi Jack! How was lunch with your parents?” 

“Fine. M’man kept us busy with stories from Samwell, and P’pa grilled George about my contract for a good hour. We skipped dessert since you gave us that silk pie. P’pa wants the recipe by the way.” 

It was easy sometimes to forget who Jack’s parents were until a hall of famer casually asked for his Moomaw’s silk pie recipe. “I’ll give it to you later. Is Providence nice?” 

Jack shifted so Eric could see out his bedroom window. The heavy blackout curtains pulled back to show the city at night, neon and beautiful. A far cry from the pitch black darkness and cicadas outside Eric’s own window. “I wanted a higher floor anyway for the extra cardio, but the view is really what sold it for me.” The laptop turned so it was just Jack again. He looked rumpled and sweet in his soft sheets. “Well that and the kitchen.” 

“Kitchen?” 

“I can show you?” The shy tone wasn’t new for Jack. It was the one he used when he was sure he would be told no or when he didn’t quite understand if he was saying something right. Eric smiled and nodded his head, wanting nothing less. 

There was a glorious moment where Jack picked up the laptop and all Eric could see was chest and clavicle. Then, a blur as Jack jerked the screen around, and Eric gripped the sides of his sheets absolutely frozen. The kitchen was all sleek modern design with a two door oven and miles of granite counter space. It was everything Eric had dreamed about while plotting out kitchen upgrades with his mother. Things that were on their, “Someday” list that were more likely their, “We can only dream or hit the lottery” list. 

But this was more than that because while Jack was a grown man who could cook for himself, realistically had no use for an oven or kitchen that big. This was a love letter written months ago before there was even a concept of a kiss. When Jack was still a senior with a heavy signing bonus in his pocket. 

“Honey…” Eric kept his tone soft but didn’t bother hiding his emotion. Not when Jack was doing all this for him, and if Eric knew anything, any grand gesture from Jack Zimmermann should never go ignored. When he saw Jack again he was flushed and nervous, probably too aware of what all this meant. “This kitchen is for me, isn’t it?” 

Jack bit his lip and bopped his head up and down not looking at the screen. “I didn’t mean for it to be. I think my mom knew. I just thought you cooked a lot so it made sense I would need a good kitchen. I never imagined you not here, with me...in Providence.” He looked so embarrassed as if Eric wasn’t about to pack everything up and book a flight back North right this moment. 

“I don’t even know what to say. It’s beautiful. The kitchen, the view, you. It’s all amazing. Thank you.” Finally Jack looked up and gave the smile that was a little too wide and showed his gums. A rare one Eric only saw on ice, and later, over Annie’s coffee.

“It’s not too much? I know this is all new, but I like us. I like doing stuff for you. Yeah.” 

“It's not Jack, and I can’t wait to cook in it.” Neither of them said anything while Jack turned off all the lights and went back to his bedroom. He closed the curtains leaving his computer as the only source of light. It made him look dramatic and sharp with all his hard edged angles. So different from Eric’s own round frame inherited from his mother. 

“We should talk about it.” There was no bother asking what “it” Jack was referring to. Eric blew out a breath wondering why they had too. Why this couldn’t just exist in this in between place where the boy he liked kissed him back without all that heavy handed need to define it. But this boy he liked was still Jack who had kept a copy of the NCAA rules in his backpack for roadies. He needed those definitions and starting off their relationship, if there is one to start, by not giving him that would just end in disaster. 

“You kissed me.” Eric started. 

“And you have been wanting to kiss me.” Jack countered. 

“So, are we dating then? Or was that some ‘one last hurrah’, goodbye thing?” 

Jack shook his head and almost looked offended. “Like I said, I didn’t realize until P’pa said something about missing shots, but I’m serious. I wouldn’t mess with you like that. I really want to try this.” 

It was hard for Eric not to laugh because too many times he thought Jack _was_ messing with him. That he was doing his best to treat him the same when Eric fell asleep against his arm on the couch, or the times when Eric couldn’t reach something in their stupidly high shelves so Jack would pick him up by the hips for a boost. Always with a chirp and a grin like Eric’s skin wasn’t burning where he touched him. A straight guy trying to make him feel as welcome and as unothered as possible. Even if it came at the expense of Eric trying to get over his silly little crush.

But Jack wasn’t straight because Jack kissed him, and wow, is that still a reality he wasn't used to. “Ok, I want to try this too. It won’t be much because I’m here and you’re there, and, gosh, we can’t even be out when I come back up, can we?” 

“No we can’t. Which I understand if you don’t want to do that.” It must be something Jack was thinking about a lot because his nodding was back. Small bops of his head and wiggling of his body betraying his discomfort. The white light of his screen was probably making it all that much worse. 

“Turn down the brightness, honey. It might help.” 

Jack nodded and the glare became less severe. The fidgeting just light bouncing in the shoulders. “You came up here to be out, Bittle. I don’t want to take that away from you.” 

“But I am out. You, the team, and most of the school know I’m gay. It’s just the fact I’m off the market that’ll be a secret.” Eric frowned and groaned making Jack tilt his head. “I just realized, Ransom and Holster. They told me one of their senior year goals was to help me get rid of my- to get a boyfriend. Whatever, I'll figure something out to leave it alone.” 

Jack nodded and looked down at his hands. “For right now we can just let things lie. I don’t like not having a plan, but I think I’ll be okay with letting this be ours for a little bit.” 

“Ours.” Eric echoed. His chest felt so warm. It could be the Georgian heat creeping in, but he could pretend the source was awkward Canadian men who stumbled into romance. “Okay Jack, I like that.” 

Again there was that perfect crooked smile that Eric wanted to bottle up. They both got more comfortable in bed, falling onto their sides to whisper about their day. Eric had to muffle his laughter in his pillow when Jack got started on his family’s lunch with Georgia. Robert “Bad Bob” Zimmermann could be such a clown when he wanted to be.  


\---

When Eric’s alarm went off, his first thought was how much he didn’t want to go to school. The next was that for one, he was a high school graduate two years out in college, and two, it was the summer. He opened one eye to see Coach already dressed in his dirty clothes pressing the test alarm button on his clock. Eric shoved his face under his pillow hoping that maybe for the first time in his life it would work. It didn’t. 

“C’mon Junior, your Ma’ made breakfast, and we have a fence to put in.” 

Eric rolled onto his back rubbing his face and feeling gross from sweating in his sleep. Even with the air conditioning doing it’s best to fight it, the early morning haze still crept in around the insulation. “I thought you wanted to level the sidewalk?” 

“Good idea.” Coach tugged down the covers leaving Eric without any protection to the bright sun, great. “We can try to get both at least started today. Now c’mon, ass in gear.” Coach left and Eric dragged himself out of bed debating on if taking a shower was even worth it. But he still smelled like plane only now with the wonderful tinge of sleep sweat to it so he did a quick scrub down before heading downstairs to grab something to eat. 

His mother was already at the table eating toast smeared with jam and drinking her coffee. “Oh Dicky, I told your Daddy to let you sleep.” She shook her head. “You look exhausted.”

“Mm…” Eric grunted. He threw some bread in the toaster oven and leaned against the counter staring at the half full coffee pot. Both his parents drank it black so it was a far shot for there to be any kind of flavored sweetener save for the baking kind around. 

They both ate with Suzanne filling him in for her plans for the day. A quick run to Ingles to pick up some groceries, Eric’s help will be appreciated, a hair appointment, Eric does not have to go, and if it’s not too late they would swing over to Moomaw's afterwards. Which meant Eric had to go to all three. 

“When I told her you were coming down finally she about had a fit.” Suzanne smiled behind her mug. “She’s started making heads with those old cookbooks in the attic so you’ll probably be getting some. Just be careful with the ones from when your Daddy was still a boy, I’m not one to knock lard but we don’t need six pounds of it to a crust. Not with your daddy’s heart.” They finished eating and Suzanne pressed a smacking kiss to her son’s forehead before heading out into the garden. 

Coach was already dragging new white posts out from the shed. When he saw Eric, he gave him a wave before pointing out to each pre-dug hole where they were sticking them. It was slow hot work with little talk. Eric wished that he thought to hook up the stereo system even if it had to be some local Christian Rock or Country station. Anything was better than the quiet and their grunting. Finally, Coach stopped him to take a water break and to cool down. They were a little over halfway done with one side meaning they likely wouldn’t get to the sidewalk today. Another early morning tomorrow then. 

“That friend of yours, ugh-” Coach snapped his fingers twice trying to think of it. “John?” 

“Jack?” 

Another snap and a finger pointed at Eric’s nose meant he got it right. “Yeah, him. He signed up for some big team right? Gonna be making news soon?” 

“The Falconers in Providence; they’re an expansion team but made a good push for the playoffs last season. They’ve been scouting him hard since last winter so no one was shocked when he signed with them. They sacrificed a few draft picks and price cap for him.” Something that Eric knew made Jack nervous. They were putting a lot of their eggs in one basket, but to Eric it just meant that the team believed in him. And the fact it was only a thirty to forty minute drive from Samwell didn't hurt. Only beat in distance by the Bruins who lost any bid when their contract seemed more cursory than serious. Jack had given it to Lardo to use for paper mache. 

Coach nodded and knocked back the last of his water bottle, dumping the splash left over his head. It soaked the old Morgan County Bulldogs hat he had on. Eric followed suit knowing his tank top would be dry in minutes. “Well, he's got good hands and has been learning to play since he was a kid. No way he’ll do anything to make them regret it.” And there he was, Coach Bittle with the eye of a man made to pick apart each player into what they needed. What is holding them back? Is the work to bring up a weak player worth it? What does a player need to hear in those critical moments? It was the same crucial eye that made Eric work a little harder, flexing what muscles that hockey gave him. 

The afternoon made it too hot to work so Coach sent Eric in with another water bottle pressed to the back of his neck. Eric went to his room and immediately picked up his phone that he had left charging on his nightstand. Two unread messages waiting for him. 

7:22: Jack: Good morning. :-) Going jogging.  
8:12: Jack: Met someone. [Image Attached]

The picture was Jack with a fan in a falconer shirt holding their corgi who was trying really hard to kiss Jack’s face. Not that Eric could blame them.

12:47: Me: Not fair!!! That dog gets to kiss you but I’m stuck doing yard work in the sweltering sun??? 

12:47: Jack: [Auto Reply] I’m driving right now - I’ll get back to you later. 

Jack must be out with the team for lunch or something. Eric took his second shower of the day before heading back downstairs to find his mother.

The market was fairly busy meaning both Eric and Suzanne were stopped every couple of minutes by old faces. There was Eric’s old English teacher Ms. Escue, now Mrs. Curtis, who seemed more than a little upset about him not following her advice into an English major. A couple of people from his mother’s class who kept referring to Eric as “Coach’s Boy”, and of course a few foggy faces from Eric’s own years at Morgan County who wanted to know if it was true that little Dicky went up North for school. 

Their cashier was an old classmate of Eric’s who worked there since they were freshmen. Ellie Ragan hadn’t changed since graduation. A little mousy and small in her too big worker uniform. She stopped mid scan to press a package of colby jack to her chest. “It’s just so nice to see you again, Eric. It’s crazy to think it’s only been a few years. A lot of us thought you would head north and that was it.” 

Suzanne patted her son’s shoulder with her wallet. “Dicky’s a sourthern boy, nothing's gonna change that.” Her voice was so fond that Eric plastered on the smile while accepting their bags. There was no way in God’s green Earth he would move back to Madison, nevertheless Georgia, after graduating. No way. 

They loitered near Ellie for a few minutes letting Eric soak up some of the local gossip about his class. Some of it made Eric’s jaw drop like Molly Stewart having a baby last Spring, he was apparently cute as a button, and the few who like him had left Madison without looking back. And then there was Ellie, working the cash register and stopping sometimes to push her sleeves back up. A little purple under the eyes but looking happy with a ring on her fourth finger. They shared a tight hug before Eric and his mom left with vague promises of catching up sometime. 

The hairdresser was a couple of blocks over in a tiny shop with two workers, Ms. Anne and Karen. Karen immediately came up asking Suzanne why they hadn’t seen her in so long getting a good long look at Suzanne’s roots. Suzanne flushed as she handed Eric her things to hold. “Oh, y’know how it is this time of year! Rick got pulled into graduation prep which meant I had to help. I never want to bedazzle another banner again, I swear.” 

“Well, get in the chair and we’ll get you started. Until then, Eric Richard Bittle who’d you let cut your hair?” Eric wanted to curl into himself as both their eyes turned towards him, their hands grazing the sheared sides of his head. Lardo had cut it for him after the Championship game since she was already doing everyone else’s. Sure, she had been a little high and the shears were possibly older than him, but he thinks she did a good enough job. 

If Suzanne could shake her head without getting yelled at she would have. She settled for pouting in the mirror instead. “You can’t even see his cute little waves with this haircut. Now if only he would grow it out.” She shouted it like Eric wasn’t sitting in a chair less than twenty feet away from her.

“Too hot Mama.” Eric called back. “I won’t be dying in the Georgian heat with this.” Suzanne huffed before being tsked at again to sit still so Karen could finish the highlights. 

They got in the car and Suzanne pulled down her mirror to play with the cut and color. She frowned and smiled and looked at it from every side before nodding and putting her seat belt on. Her eyes flicked over to Eric’s in the rear view mirror. “You really don’t want them to style it for you? Just a little off the top?”

“No, Mama.” He said, sunk deep in his seat. The way Karen's eyes had stuck on him like glue made him feel twitchy and hot in his skin. Like she somehow knew just from the cut of his hair.

They were halfway to Moomaw’s when Eric’s phone buzzed. 

5:08: Jack: Just left dinner, met some of the team. Think you’ll like Tater. 

5:10: Me: Which one is Tater again? Is he the other rookie they picked up? 

A couple of minutes went by before Jack replied. 

5:16: Jack: No, he’s the Russian one. Mashkov. He’s very loud and keeps trying to give me a nickname. None have stuck yet. 

Ah. Of course Jack attached himself to Mashkov who seemed to be the star of all the promotional material the Falconers had put out since Eric started following their twitter. It was good for Jack to be around someone with a loud personality. It worked at Samwell with Shitty so it should work with Mashkov and the Falcs. 

They texted back and forth for the rest of the drive with Eric telling Jack all about his day. About his Dad’s questions and his high hopes for this season. About Ellie and her too long sleeves and shiny ring. About the salon and the gossip his mom had picked up. Little bits and pieces of Madison that made it his home. As they pulled into his grandma’s driveway, there was one last text from Jack before he left to Skype Shitty. 

5:31: Jack: It would be nice to see Madison one day. 

Eric pointed two of the car’s air conditioning vents at his face hoping his mother would blame it on the heat. 

Erica “Moomaw” Bittle lived in a one story house in a cramped suburb where she could name all of her neighbors up and down three different blocks. They walked up to the door and barely a second after the bell was rung there was a small woman tugging Eric in around the neck for a hug. She smelled like nutmeg and synthetic roses and Eric almost cried over how much he missed her. 

“There he is, Mr. College finally giving his Nana the time of day. C’mon Suzie, you’re letting the cold out.” Moomaw got them both in before sitting in her old rocking chair with her cane over the arm of the couch. She took Eric’s hands and held them tight. “Let me look at you. Oh, your boy has grown, hasn’t he Suzie? Gonna take after your granddaddy like I knew you would. Even Rick was late with his growth spurt.” By late Eric knew she meant sixteen, not nearly twenty-one. 

“Hi Moomaw.” Eric said, suddenly feeling a little shy. The only person who could outdo him and his mother’s talent for rambling was Grandma Bittle. How she raised such a silent boy like Coach, Eric had really no idea. 

The first order of business was if Eric had been keeping up with his baking. Who was he cooking for, what recipes he made while at school, and if it had managed to sway anyone to look his way with it. Eric wanted to tell her about Jack and his love of maple crust pies, but he just kept his smile tight lipped while shaking his head no. “No one yet. Just a houseful of hungry hockey players and their manager. Those boys have been keeping me on my toes, though. I tried to make a Haus meal at least twice a week while staying within our captain’s diet.” 

“Pfft, diets. I fed your Daddy well enough without that and he grew up fine. You boys just need some red meat and you’ll be fine.” It was a moot point to argue so Eric just nodded along knowing that if he ever fed the team half what she taught him, Holster and Ransom would probably never forgive him for making them lose their abs. 

“Now, other than no promise of great-grandkids on the way-” 

“Moomaw!” Eric groaned. 

“I want to show you the cookbooks your uncle got out for me. Get into Richard’s old study and bring out the boxes stuck back there.” 

Grandpa Richard's study was a time capsule; sports memorabilia still lined the walls mostly consisting of Georgia University merchandise. Most of it decades older than Eric and even his father. A fine layer of dust covered everything and Eric doubted that anything had been touched since the funeral. His memories of his grandfather were hazy at best. Mostly sitting on his knee being bounced while he watched a game, or the time he promised him he would go to Georgia University before he even started kindergarten. If Moomaw’s cooking didn’t do him in, the fact his own flesh and blood went North for a degree would have.  
Eric brought them out and watched as Moomaw carefully took some books out. Most featured faded neon lettering with blocky letters. “These are from right after I married Richard. Your great Moomaw knew I was hopeless in the kitchen back then, so she thought they would help.” 

There were a few more dotted from before and after Coach was born. The only one Eric taking some real interest in being a worn out Betty Crocker cookbook. Some pages marked in Moomaw’s hand correcting recipes, and others completely scribbled out with a full rewrite in the margins. It took one look at his face before Moomaw was waving him off saying he can keep it. “It was just taking up space and dust anyway.” 

Their visit came to a close with one more round of hugs and Moomaw making Suzanne promise to keep her grandson out of trouble. “I know how boys get when they’re stuck inside all summer. I remember when you and Richie were kids thinking I didn’t know you were sneaking out every night.” 

Suzanne went bright red and hissed, “Erica!” glancing over at Eric who decided that the Lemon Chiffon Cake recipe he was reading about was much more interesting. Moomaw just laughed to herself before shoving them out the door.

Eric sent a picture of the cookbook to Jack and captioned it, “Think any of this fits in your diet?” 

7:45: Jack: Haha. No. 

They were greeted at the door by Coach drinking a beer and watching a game. He raised his bottle in acknowledgement before downing half of it when the announcers called a homerun. Suzanne went into the kitchen to start dinner with Eric at her side as an extra pair of hands. 

They chopped, peeled, and mixed a salad with a heavy hand of vinegar and cheese on top. For the main course it was a frozen casserole Eric just had to pop in the oven. When it was done, Coach called the game quits to join them at the table. They said grace before digging in and talking about their days or asking about Eric’s time at Samwell. Halfway through a heavily edited story involving Shitty and a froyo cup, Coach interrupted him asking if he had anything planned. 

There was immediate caution as Eric swallowed his bite. He glanced at his mom who shrugged. “I don’t think so, why?” 

“Good. We should head up to the lake tomorrow. Get to it before the tourists start coming enmass.” 

It wasn’t a question. Eric tried to think of any reason to stay home that didn’t involve Jack, sleep, or a Great British Bake Off marathon in his underwear. All things Coach wouldn’t deem good enough reason to not sit in a boat in the middle of Lake Oconee. “Shouldn’t we wait until Uncle Charley and John come up?” 

“Nope. Just me and you this time. If you really want we can go again when your uncles come up for the fourth. You should be excited. I’ll even let you have a beer while we’re out.”

“Rick-” Suzanne started. 

“What? The boy‘s almost old enough anyway, and he’s been at that college for two years. Some Blue Moon won’t kill him.” Eric smiled at his mother and tried his best to look like the only member of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team, save for Jack, who hadn’t done questionable things under Natty Light’s influence. 

“Fine, but if you bring my boy back drunk I’m locking you both out.” They went back to eating while Eric stared down at his plate. Tomorrow he got to spend his whole day out on a tiny boat getting sunburned and eaten alive by bugs. He couldn’t wait. 

That night’s call found Jack eating while looking at his plate like it was the last thing he wanted to do. With Summer training he had to choke down as many calories as possible to avoid getting gaunt with the exercises they were pushing. Eric tried to keep conversation light, but Jack still noticed Eric’s somewhat subdued mood. He lightly pressed and Eric leaned back resting his hands on his stomach. “I’m going out with Coach to go fishing tomorrow. We’ll listen to baseball on his tiny handheld radio, drink, and I’ll probably get to hear why my cousin Tommy is beating me in the being a great son contest.” Eric’s hands came up making finger waves. “Yay.” 

Jack swallowed a bite of too red steak. “I thought you liked boating?” 

“I do like boating. Just not the fishing part. I’ll descale them, gut them, whatever, just don’t make me sit in a hot boat for hours praying for a bite. Especially when all I have to entertain myself is half decent alcohol and people hitting balls with sticks.” 

“ _You_ hit things with sticks. And I made a career out of it."

It took Eric a second to realize why Jack’s smile had turned a whole three degrees more smug. Something that he can only tell from basically living in his pocket with a lifetime worth of chirps to go with it. “Now Mr. Zimmermann, you did _not_ just chirp me on our second date, did you?” 

The smile lost its three degrees. “That depends. Is this a date?” 

“Well,” Eric opened his bed stand for the snacks he pretended his mom didn’t know about. “You’re eating.” He popped a bag and ate a chip. They were stale and he probably should have checked the best by date. It looked like it was time to update the snack drawer. “And now I’m eating. Thus, a date.” It was simple which is what Jack liked, and sweet in a way that Eric did. They ate their date food of calorie loading and stale chips with matching grins. 

\---

Trips to Lake Oconee was both a blessing and a curse of moving to Madison. They had gone a few times when they lived in Good Hope, but the drive was always tedious and never felt worth the two days getting bug bites at KOA campgrounds. But since their move, it was only a thirty minute drive that Eric usually slept through cuddling his backpack of extra clothes, snacks, and bug spray. Coach humming along to whatever country station he put on. 

After Coach got their parking pass, he woke Eric up to help him guide the boat into the water. By the time they were pushing away from the docks, the back of Eric’s neck was already uncomfortably tight and his phone stowed away in the truck’s passenger side compartment. The last message he sent to Jack telling him he would text him the moment they returned to civilization.

Coach took over driving, an unlit cigarette in his lips. He watched the depth monitor and sometimes shouted out to Eric to watch the water for sandbanks. “We’re heading to sugar creek. Your mama wants some catfish.” Eric slapped on half a tube of sunscreen and rolled his eyes when coach turned it down knowing his mother will throw a fit when he comes home red as a lobster. 

They came to a stop in a nicely shaded area with some shallow water where Coach lit his cigarette and baited six hooks. Eric did two, long since used to the texture of chicken liver. Then came the part Eric dreaded. “So, now that your mama isn’t here, who is that girl you’re texting all the time.” 

“No one Coach.” Eric stared at the water and prayed that they'd get a bite soon. Anything to stop this conversation. “Like I said, I’m single. The group chat-”

“Oh, you don’t gotta lie to me.” Coach leaned forward and patted his son’s back. “Your old man has been out of the game for a while, but I know that look well enough. You got someone back at college, don’t you?” 

It would be so easy for Eric to tip himself over. He could dive under the boat and swim until he hit the marina never to be seen again. But there were six sets of hooks in the water, and one time getting stuck by one of those things was enough. “No coach, no one. Y’know me. Just waiting for the right girl to come along.” The word came out flat to Eric’s ears. How Coach could believe it, Eric had no idea. 

“Guess you’re right. Not everyone could be your Mama and I. Go ahead and grab me a beer and get yourself one. There should be orange slices too..”

A bottle and a half between them later and they had their first bite. Eric reeled it in ignoring Coach’s tips and corrections to his form. He grew up on boats, he knew what he was doing even if he hated it. The fish was too small to keep, but it at least meant they were biting. He threw it in and Coach told him about the Bulldog’s last season. About all the boys who were being scouted, and the few who went onto big ten teams with real chances of being pro if they kept their shit clean. 

“I was talking to Charley and I really think your cousin is gonna be something.” Coach pulled in a line to change the bait. The motion was quick and practiced. “Tommy was throwing half fields like they’re nothing and they already whispering about making him captain. By the time he’s a senior we could have a real pro in the family.” Eric hummed and stared out at the flat lake. Long since used to the wistful tone Coach used when discussing one of his cousins achievements. 

There was a heavy silence before Eric realized Coach was staring at him like he was expecting something. When Eric just raised an eyebrow at him, Coach sighed. “That damn music of yours is making you go deaf. I asked about that team of yours. How is everyone.” 

“Oh.” Eric shifted so he was turned more towards Coach than the still lines. “Ransom and Holster are working summer jobs near Niagara Falls. Lardo and Shitty-” Eric winced but Coach just laughed and shook his head. 

“You’re twenty years old Eric, you can say your own friend’s nickname. Just not in front of Suzie.” 

“Well, they’re staying with Shitty’s family for the first half of the summer at some country club Shitty’s dad has a lifetime membership in. The second half with Lardo’s parents at a summer house somewhere in Maine. And well, y’know Jack.” Eric tried to keep the same nonchalant voice he had said his other teammates' names with. 

“Right, Jack.” It was amazing how instant Eric could hate the way someone’s lips wrapped around a name. Coach shifted his weight making the entire boat rock. They didn’t talk any longer, Coach turning on his little handheld radio and turning so his back was to Eric. Eric downed what was left of his beer and held his tongue when Coach tossed his still lit cigarette into the water. “How do you think he’s gonna do out there?” 

The reply was practiced after having the same question thrown at him more times than he could count during their stint for the Frozen Four. “He was a fine captain to us at Samwell and-” 

“Don’t give me that. I remember you calling your mama in near tears for months over what that boy said to you. What do you really think?” 

Eric frowned and looked at the lake staring where the string disappeared into the murky water. “I think Jack is one of the best players the league has seen in awhile, and I think-, I _know_ he’ll do fine even if he doesn’t think so.” 

Coach pulled out his bag of tobacco and papers shaking his head. “You would make a good captain Junior. If only you weren’t so damn soft hearted.” Eric didn’t reply and just turned his back on Coach pretending he saw one of the lines shake.  


\---

Seeing Jack on Sports Center is not something Eric was prepared for. Coach had it on in the background during a lazy afternoon where it’s too hot to do anything really but lounge around. They were talking about Vegas’ (Coach had raised an eyebrow at Eric’s loud snort.) recent loss in their bid for the Stanley Cup when the news anchors brought it back to a story about another team already starting training after an early loss in the playoffs. 

Seeing the Falconer’s locker room under camera lights made it seem a world away from the photos Jack sent him. There were a few familiar faces going in and out of frame but the focus was all on Jack. He looked tired and pleased with hair curling the way it does after a quick shower.

The anchor’s smile is all teeth as he shoves a microphone in Jack’s face. The question is something about Jack’s comeback, his time at Samwell, and if he’s enjoying being a Falconer. “The team is very strong and I’m, uh, happy to be a part of it.” Jack leaned back against his stall, bare stomach muscles flexing as he resettled. One of Jack’s teammates swatted him with a towel making a joke about giving the viewers a real show. Eric hoped Coach didn’t catch the noise he made, sinking deeper into the couch. “I’m thankful for the chance management gave me and excited for pre-season.” 

“Well, I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say it’s nice to see the Zimmermann name back in the professional world. I’m sure your family’s ring collection can use some new shine, don’t you say?” 

It’s subtle. A twitch of the lip before it settles back down into the neutral flat line that Jack adopts during interviews. “Yes. It would be nice to get a ring, but I think we should get through training first, eh?” The anchor ends the interview with more questions about Jack’s pre-season before sending it back to the newsroom who is already breaking down Jack’s life by the numbers. 

It’s not Jack being on TV that trips Eric up. Almost everyone on the team has given the odd sound bite or two. Even Eric who was asked about how it felt to skate on Jack’s line as a freshman then sophomore. But that was Samwell being on the map because of the Frozen Four or a strong win streak. Not Jack half dressed in his NHL locker room being asked about the _Stanley Cup_.

Eric doesn’t expect a reply when he texts, “I saw the interview. I guess you really are a pro, huh?” 

2:40: Jack : It’s still me. 

Eric bites his lip and his thumbs hover over his keyboard too long because Jack texts again. Jack Zimmermann, captain, dietary watchdog, and double texter. Who knew. 

2:41: Jack: Don’t worry Bittle. I won’t forget the little guys. 

Eric sends back a line of bird emojis and a chirp of his own. It’s alright. It’s weird, but it’s alright. 

\---

While Memorial Day weekend is nothing compared to their Fourth of July, it’s still a day of cooking, family, and Eric hiding out in the kitchen as much as possible. He wakes up surprisingly late and comes down to already find Dolly Parton crooning about love from Suzanne’s old CD player. 

Suzanne’s voice cracks more than hits the right notes, but to Eric’s ears, his mama could give Miss Parton a run for her money. Suzanne looked up from where she’s crimping little pockets of dough full of apple filling for the little kids to snack on. There’s a smear of flour on her cheek. “Dicky? Sorry I didn’t get you up. We got most of the prep done so I figured you would appreciate a little extra sleep.” 

“It's fine, what needs done still?” Reaching over for his own apron, Eric bumped his elbow against hers. He picked his own clump of dough and smeared filling in the middle of it. 

“You can finish folding these while I start mashing some berries. You and your daddy can fight over the strawberry cream this year because I’m only making one.” She said it every year and then tonight Eric is gonna open the fridge to find an extra still chilling. 

It turned out there was still a lot to be done. For hours Eric rolled, smeared, mixed, and baked until they had enough to feed the neighborhood with leftovers. The last bowl of coleslaw sliding into place just as the Colliers from down the street arrived. Their son shoving a Tupperware container of fruit salad into Eric’s arms before making a beeline for the radio Coach had propped up. The pop station lasted ten minutes before Coach switched it back to the local news station going over the results of the Indy 500. 

From there it was a stream of friends and acquaintances looking for a free meal with good food. The Bittle’s Barbecue, bless alliteration, being an open invite to anyone who wants to celebrate. Some brought their own containers of home made food taking up any space Suzanne had left, and Eric took five trips to the downstairs freezer to store vegetable platters with the price sticker still on the lid. 

There was a routine to it. First Eric would stick to his Mama’s side accepting the compliments and thanks for the food while ignoring the odd snort and giggle at a grown boy who still dared to cook with his mama. The worst being Mr. Peterson’s sniff before asking, “Ain’t it about time for him to be working the grill?” Not even bothering to whisper to Coach while he was working the steaks. 

“Suzie had to pass down the family recipes to someone, Mike.” Coach flipped a steak and almost smiled at the perfect grill marks. “And what lady doesn’t like a man who can cook?” Peterson just went back to sipping at his can of beer stealing glances at Eric like he was the one intruding on his own family’s party. 

After everyone had at least a serving of food, Eric was free to go and actually eat. His plate was in danger of collapsing in on itself as he carried it over a little fold out chair Coach had propped up in the corner of the yard. He couldn’t help taking a photo of the three drumsticks he had managed to save and sending it to Jack. 

1:34: Me: Jack approved? 

1:35: Jack: Like the attention to protein, but I don’t think my dietitian would approve of all those carbs. Especially the deep fried ones. 

1:37: Me: Ain’t my fault Coach bought Mama her very own deep fryer for their anniversary. Food is how Bittles show love. 

When Eric hit send it clicked what he had just said.The grey, “Delivered.” under the text was mocking him. Finally, three little dots appeared. 

1:49: Jack: Yeah. I guess they do. 

And well. No one could argue that Jack Zimmermann didn’t understand Eric Bittle. 

Eric managed to get a few more professional looking shots of his plate, the table’s spread, and his Mama holding an uncut apple pie with her face carefully cropped out. Little sparkly fireworks painted on her thumbnails peaking up around the corners of the tin. It was about time to update his blog, and his viewers had been dying to see how the Bittle family does cook outs. He did a small spread on Coach’s BBQ mixes for the 4th of July last year that is one of his most viewed entries. 

The party started winding down with the parents a little tipsy and the children either hunting for fireflies in the tall grass or falling asleep in chairs. Eric helped his mama clean up while Coach waved everyone off making sure they would be getting home ok. The few who couldn’t drive being offered a lift. 

That left Suzanne and Eric alone in the empty still pretty wrecked backyard. They sat in the old wooden chair swing, Suzanne’s arm going around Eric’s shoulders and squeezing him tight against her side. “Another success?” She asked like the entire neighborhood hadn’t just spent the last eight hours praising their cooking. 

But Eric if anything, was his mother’s son. “Yeah Mama, we did good.” 

\---

Bittle Barbecue and Bakes | Memorial Day Vlog

OmgCheckPlease  
Published on May 25, 2015  
I know y’all have been dying to get a peek behind the curtain as to how my family does it for Memorial Day Weekend so here’s thirty minutes of me chattering and some of the final results. See if you can peek at my Mama’s cute little mani. It’s always a blast to be back at home but it’s really the times when I can cook for my neighborhood that it feels like I’m back.

| Leave a comment |

@StudiousKoala | 1:05 PM | Reply 

FIRST!!!!

@221BakeryStreet | 1:53 PM | Reply 

I haven’t seen your home setup in forever. Makes me nostalgic for my first sub days. Is it harder or easier to film at college than Georgia? Everything looked delicious, you and your mom really outdid yourselves.

@OmgCheckPlease | 3:07 PM | Reply 

Thank you!! I’ll send your compliments to the REAL chef.  
And it’s SO much easier to film at Samwell, but it’s only because most of my equipment is there over the summer. Until I go back it’s back to my days of balancing Iphones on textbooks. 

@OverUneasy | 2:45 PM | Reply 

Yay a new video!!! I know you being back home makes things lag a bit but I’ve been dying for my fix. Will your parents ever make an appearance in a videos?

@OmgCheckPlease| 3:19 PM | Reply 

I really do try to get things out as soon as I finish recording, but I’m just lucky my parents joined the whole “Wi-fi” bandwagon my Junior year.  
I think Coach is a lost cause since he turns into a statue when you get a camera on him, but Mama said if I ever get a hair and makeup team she is onboard. Another reason to donate to my patreon. 

@ZimmerPants | 2:24 PM | Reply 

WHERE’S JACK NEWS????

@OmgCheckPlease | 3:47 | Reply 

This is a baking blog.

\---

It’s a night when long days of practice or work around the house makes them both a little more open and brave. Jack looked down at the blankets in his lap before whispering, “I wasn’t lying when I said I want to see Madison.”

“I would love that Jack, but you barely have enough time to think as is. I swear they’re wanting to kill you and poor Poots more than break you in as rookies.” 

Jack shrugged like he hadn’t sent Eric a selfie of him earlier neck deep in an ice bath with a nice bruise on his cheek. “I might get time off for the Fourth unless they tag me for some PR since I’m Canadian and- uh, unmarried.” Eric still hears single and is proud of himself for not frowning. Too much. 

But the idea of Jack in Madison. Of Jack in Madison during their Fourth of July celebration with their rinky little downtown parade and people doing their best to blow up their own backyards. It’s something Eric has to see to believe. “If you can get time off, I’ll ask Mama.” And because Eric is a fine young man with another fine young man on call he adds on, “And I hope Madison isn’t the only thing you want to see Zimmermann.” The glare of Jack's laptop does awful things when mixed with the red of his cheeks. It’s a small victory.

Five times Eric almost works up the courage to ask her. In his head it’s so simple. “Can Jack stay here for the Fourth of July weekend?” Then Suzanne would either fret over the house’s condition but allow him to come, or somehow decipher form the tremble in Eric’s voice that not only was he gay, but he was dating Jack and has been for the last month. In Eric’s opinion, it was 50/50 either way. 

A week passes and they exchange a warmer than usual May for a downright brutal June. Just walking the path from his truck to the side door has Eric feeling like he needs a shirt change. Suzanne is perched at the table with her kindle five inches from her face probably reading another book recommendation from Jenny-Down-the-Block. At the sound of Eric dropping a package of water bottles, she turns off the screen and frowns at Eric’s appearance. “Is it that warm out or did your daddy drop you in the lake?” 

“Oh it’s snowing out. Don’t you see?” Eric shoved his face in front of a tiny fan doing it’s best to circulate the air conditioning around their kitchen. 

Suzanne poked her son in the ribs with a shockingly sharp acrylic. “You can be a smart ass when you’re not stinking up my kitchen.” 

They bickered back and forth as Eric got a glass of juice. His phone buzzed making the counter and his glass clink. 

Jack: 2:21 PM: Just talked to management about the fourth. Poots and Tater agreed to do PR since neither of them wanna fly out of Rhode Island for the holidays. I’m getting a whole week off. 

Well then. Eric chugged the whole glass, half of it going down the wrong pipe, before slamming it back down on the counter silently thanking god they were shatter proof. Bless clumsy baby cousins. “Hey, Mom.” 

That made Suzanne turn, arching a brow. “Mom? Now something must be really bad if you’re calling me that. Do I need to get my purse?” Her tone is joking but her nails are tapping at the table. The last time he called her mom was when he got his Samwell acceptance letter and her baby was moving almost a thousand miles away for four years. 

“It’s nothing bad, I’ve just been talking to Jack again-” 

“Did something happen?” Suzanne pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh I remember when the news first came out about his- er, _accident_. I swear your daddy didn’t change the channel for nothin’. Kept going on and on about how he kept seeing his own boys in those photos.” 

“He’s fine. Nothing like that happened, I promise. I just wanted to ask-” Eric breathed in once, held it, and let it out. “Can Jack come down for the fourth?” 

\---

2:22: Me: I’ll ask her.

2:36 PM: Jack: Bits?  
2:47 PM: Jack: Bittle? 

2:52 PM: Me: Just stopped talking, she said yes.  
2:53 PM: Me: She may also be dragging me down to the Ikea in Atlanta (WHICH IS AN HOUR AWAY) because apparently “No son of Bad Bob Zimmermann is gonna sit on Walmart throw pillows.”

2:54 PM: Jack: But I bought my throw pillows from Walmart? 

2:54 PM: Me: Oh sweetheart. 

\---

The airport is crowded and hot and Eric can’t tell if he’s more excited or his mother is. They sit in arrivals staring up at the flight announcements as Jack’s finally ticks over into unboarding. Suzanne grabbed her son’s knee getting him to stop bouncing. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen him before.” 

Eric wished he could tell her. Explain to her that this would be his first time seeing Jack since they kissed, since they went from best friends to something more in his old room. Well, maybe minus a few small details. But instead he just smiled something weak and fake. “I’m just excited. I miss the team, y’know?” 

There was an answer but Eric didn’t care because he saw a blue hat heads above everyone else. Jack in public always tried to take up as little space as possible. An attempt at going unnoticed. His bag was tucked close to his chest and he only looked up once to look for them. To meet Eric’s eyes across the airport and smile, wide and genuine. Eric stood up and mumbled something to his mom before disappearing into the crowd keeping track of that blue until-

“Hey.” 

“Hi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here is part one! Next chapter will feature Jack in Madison doing Jack in Madison things! Maybe he'll even play a whole hockey, who knows! I really hope you enjoyed this and stay tuned for Chapter 2 
> 
> You can fine me @[Zimbites](https://zimbites.tumblr.com/).  
> My lovely beta @[AhhhhPuck](https://ahhhhpuck.tumblr.com/).  
> And @[HappyZimm](https://happyzimm.tumblr.com/) who helped me come up with so many Bitty in Madison ideas.


End file.
